


Purple Lamborghini

by warschach



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Smut, Street Racing, fuck da police, there are no lamborghinis in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9290180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warschach/pseuds/warschach
Summary: “I need you to focus on this race. No more hate flirting with Keith as much as I enjoy it. I like winning more.”He scoffed, “I don’t flirt.”“Then stop saying you’re going to teach him how to ride.”“I was talking about driving. Duh,” Lance countered with an attitude mastered purely by Valley girls and entitled customers.“Yea, Lance it doesn’t come off like that at all. It sounds like you’re gonna fuck him.”“I’m not.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> "this will be 10k at the most"  
> -lies i tell myself
> 
> cause i'm a nerd [Keith’s car](http://www.c-elysigns.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Challenger-stripe-1-e1329152847949.jpg) , [Lance’s car](http://starmoz.com/images/blue-ford-shelby-4.jpg/)

 

Lance had a few addictions— adrenaline, fast cars, and pretty bodies in tight obscene clothes—street racing ran high and plenty on all three so that was how he ended up flanked by sexy dames in small tops with thong straps showcasing on a swell of hip bone from the low ride of their jeans, cars lined up and electric with custom paintjobs, neon lights and music; and a pale full moon.

The street lights were a dull and faulty from usage but the beams from several headlights made up for the deficient.  Alleys, dead and lonely, echoed the smallest of sounds like stereo speakers. Trash littered the curb. Heels snapped over concrete. Rain water gathered in potholes. They’re in the city but far from the social life that kept the windows yellow and the road busy. Air perfumed with gasoline, a gathering of bodies, and day old food sloshing out in the slashes of plastic garbage bags made by ravenous rat and sneaky raccoons.

 People set up a mock bar on the back of a Chevy Silverado and handed out cold beers from blue coolers. Pretty girls walked on heels in their low cut jeans and sparkly tube tops from car to car, chatted with the driver, messed around in the front seat as they admired the cool lights and switches on the board.

The reason the chick didn’t flock to his ride was cause Pidge was real particular about who went in it and that list had three names— Pidge, Hunk, and Lance.

They checked out the slick paint job and the neon lights strapped to the bottom of the car, blue, and kissed Lance on the cheek for good luck.

Shay popped her big butt on the hood of the Mustang and traded beers with Hunk, thighs and butt spreading wide in stone washed jeans and a crop top.

Hunk and Shay kissed, Hunk’s lips smeared dark from her royal blue lipstick. A metallic blue shadowed her eye lids and faked shimmery waves from the street post looming above the car.

Lance rolled over, bored from watching Pidge work her magic on the car’s nitro. He knew cars, came from a several generations of grease monkeys but more of the advanced technical stuff were above him. Lance could change your oil, fix your heater and AC, install a radio but ask him to hook your car up with some hydraulics and he was lost.

“Sup, where’s my kiss?” Lance bumped Shay’s shin.

Hunk roped an arm over Shay’s tiny waist and clutched her to his side, pecking her cheek. “Get your own girl.”

Shay turned to putty at his protective nature, though if a fight were to go down she was the first one to throw a punch. Fiery girl, he liked her a lot. Hunk was damn smitten with her.

“I meant a kiss from you, bruh.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me fix that,” Hunk puckered his lips before Shay giggled and jumped in, putting a hand on Lance’s chest when he went to dip down.

“No macking with my boyfriend.”

“Sharing is caring, girl.”

“It wouldn’t be nice for you to cheat on your boyfriend with mine when he’s sitting right over there,” she pointed to the line of cars that paralleled his and without checking he knew who exactly she was talking about—Keith.

Who was Keith?

Let papa Lance break it down for you.

Keith was two things: insanely hot in a _I eat steel beams for breakfast_ kind of way and a dick who acted very chivalrous when the opportunity presented itself, apparently both were traits Lance wanted in a guy cause his eyes zeroed back to the dude.

It was like the sixth time if you wanted to be anal and ask for a specific number.

Not that Lance had a thing for the guy.

Pfft, get real.

 Like, yes Keith was super pretty and muscled thick in his body and, yea if he had the chance on that rollercoaster Lance would ride, _ride_ that to the promise lands and the great beyond.  But he was Lance’s mortal enemy and he fucking kicked Lance’s ass a few weeks ago in a race.

So his hands were tied.

Plus Lance didn’t lose, ever.

Except that one time  with Keith and the time he entered a  Magic the Gathering competition at a comic book store.

That was it though.

And Keith was real chill about winning and shook Lance’s hand after with that charcoal black hair strewn over dark violet eyes.

The fuck.

Like be rude, dude.

Pick one, you couldn’t do both.

Don’t be nice and hot.

But he did, again with lips that swallowed the match and the flame, eyes that impregnated you, hair fine enough to sponsor Pantene and Herbal Essence, and a body hard and tight to mine diamonds from the crevices of his abs.

He checked out Keith’s fine ass bending smooth as he popped the hood on his cherry red Challenger and not for the reason you would believe, it was pure chance that Keith’s ass was popping and delicious when he glanced over.

Fuck Dodge first off.

Second, fuck Keith and those black jeans; could they be any _tighter_?

Wasn’t it severing off the blood flow to his dick or something, jeans could not be that tight and not strangle your Johnson.

Third, fuck Lance’s stupid wayward gaze and his penis for insisting that hell yea, Keith rocked those edgy rags that he probably ripped off from a Final Fantasy character. Hello Noctis Lucis Caelum called, he would like his outfit back.

 His eyes didn’t move and Shay covered her mouth politely to giggle at his thirst.

Excellent.

“Lance,” Hunk poked his arm.

“That fucking dick,” he muttered.

Hunk sighed and rubbed an incoming headache. “Not this again.”

“Oh yes, this a _gain_ , my dear precious beautiful Hunk.” Lance grumbled.

Shay doubled over and laughed by her kneecaps.

Hunk looked over her bent back at Lance. “You only call me beautiful when you want to go on a rant.”

“That’s a lie. You are beautiful to me every waking moment. The sun rises for your god damn face, my man. You are a beautiful son of a bitch.”

“Uh, I don’t like how hostile you sounded saying that but I’ll take the compliment…” He relented. “Go ahead and bitch about Keith, I’ll listen cause I’m such a good friend to you.”

“Okay. Who paints their car such an obnoxious color?” He jammed an accusing finger at the red beast with black racing stripes.  They had a matte finish too, nothing screamed I’m a newbie drag racer like race stripes. “Like did he just see _The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift_?”

Hunk folded his calf over his thigh and scratched at a bug bite below the cut of his cargo shorts. “I’m positive he isn’t Japanese.”

“I think he’s Korean or something,” Shay added.

Lance gasped, clapping his hands over his mouth. “You racist. How could you? I wasn’t talking about that.”

“You specifically said _Tokyo Drift_ out of all the dumb movies there are in that franchise,” Hunk said dully.

Lance clutched at the apex of his chest, “That shitty franchise is the reason we make bank. Don’t spit on Vin Diesel.”

Bank was a stretch but their living was both comfortable to a degree and adventurous. Who needed a 401k, health insurance, and paid sick days when you had cool cars, a higher chance of jail time, and possibly a high speed car chase featured on CNN with your sick skills immortalized on crappy TVs bought off Walmart?

Take that established businesses.

“Shut the hell up, the first two are okay. The rest you have to be hammered or high to enjoy without your brain hurting.”

Shay chimed in, tapping French tipped nails on Hunk’s knee. “I have to give it to him. I can only watch it if you give me a bottle or a joint.”

“Blasphemy!”

“Fine, we’ll ask Pidge. Pidge?” Hunk twisted and rapped on the windshield.

Pidge poked her head out of the car, glasses crowned over orange soda blonde hair. She rocked the whole aura of pretty girl mechanic who could fix your car and rearrange your face with a drill in five minutes.

She barked, “What?”

“Fast and Furious, good or bad?”

She laughed hard and unsympathetic. “You’re joking right? Those movies shit on physic, science, and human intelligence.”

Colored Lance fucking appalled. “Well I know who I’m _not_ inviting to my Fast and Furious marathon.”

“Thank god,” all three said.

 

 

[x]

 

 

“How many is that?” Pidge questioned when Lance recycled the bottle into a blue bin and caught another between his fingers.

Hunk and Shay ditched them to walk around and check out the competition. There were plenty of familiar faces so Lance wasn’t too worry. Some fresh blood joined too, playing hard faces at the drivers whose rides could demolish their low to the ground Mitsubishi. A lot of them didn’t have the cash or the knowledge to optimize the engine of their car so Lance hardly considered them.

His crew were in this game for years, Team Volt had quite the rep.

He twisted the cap and recycled that too, one earth yall, and mounted the curb farthest from a low rider jumping on hydraulics. “My third.”

The mechanics produced a robotic squeak. A decent crowd cheered. Pidge and Lance joined in when all four wheels floated on two inches of air.

“That’s your last,” she said, flicking oil grease streaked fingers against the glass.

Lance drank down his first swig and popped the rim back, the amber of the bottle glossy with beer and spit. “You know it takes way more than a few Budweisers to mess me up.”

“And last time, you raced Keith you lost,” she pointed out and wordlessly stuck her hand out.

Lance passed it over and let her have a sip.

“It was the engine,” he said when the bottle went back to him.

“That car has enough horsepower to take your ass to Neptune. Don’t blame her,  you hit the nitro too late. But I did bump it though so watch your drifts.”

 “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” his face twisted from the bitterness of the beer. “This would be better with a lime.”

“Or salt,” she said, trading with Lance.

“Yet no one brings either. Every time.”

“Oh no,” Pidge groaned.

“What ‘oh no’?”

She answered, “You’re boyfriend ‘oh no’.”

And not too off from Pavlov’s dog, Lance sought Keith out and yea he was heading their way, walk something that you could time to the beat of _Bad Medicine_ and it would fit. The hips cocking. Legs strutting. Slow motion so you appreciated the tiny details.

Chill dude, they weren’t at a runway.

Lance cleared his throat and ignored how Keith’s footfall were firing ripples in the collected pools of water. “Sorry, did you mean mortal enemy?” He corrected, face and voice deadpanned to maximize how off the mark Pidge was.

Guy was hot and Lance loathed the ground he walked, what was so difficult to understand about the situation?

“I’ll believe that when you stop giving him sex eyes.”

“I do not give him sex eyes. He is not worthy. Oh shit!” Lance elbowed her frantically. “He’s coming, act cool. Act cool. No, wait—pretend I said something super cool. That will show him.”

“Sure, no problem,” Pidge held the bottle loosely in her hand.

Keith stepped up, “Hey.”

Pidge thought now was the time to spring Lance’s tactical plan. “Wow Lance, what you just said was super cool.”

Keith stared.

Lance refused to look at anyone cause no words had been shared from the moment Keith arrived to now, so the tactic was embarrassingly transparent and that bothered no one but Lance.

“Well I did what you asked,” Pidge announced and squeezed Lance’s thigh, then hefted up her body and skedaddled as though an awkward silence hadn’t started to saturate the small space between Keith and Lance.

 “Later Keith,” she waved.

Keith strung the pieces to together and smirked, “Were you trying to act cool in front of me?”

“Pfft. Act, who said anything about acting. Also nice to see you’re back for round two, sweetheart. Fair warning, I’m going to show you how a real man rides.”

From afar, Pidge barked a painful snort through her nose and relayed a message to Hunk and Shay as they gathered far enough to be out of the picture but close to overhear their conversation. They giggled too.

Nice, now three people were going to bust his balls.

Final Fantasy sketch design number 34 made a face, “Dude. _You_ lost.”

“You got lucky.”

“Uh, no. I won. You lost. My car is better than yours.”

Lance stood up and felt dirt smear under his hand when he pushed off the curb, “You can dis my friends—“

His friends shouted an indignant, “Hey! What the fuck Lance.”

“Bruh, you is cold as ice,” Hunk hollered.

Shay threw her arms out, forgetting she had a paper plate pile with chips and guacamole, “I’m not even a part of this team— ah shit. Hunk can you get me more, please?”

“You can dis me,” he continued. “But never, ever dis my car.”

Keith jammed a thumb into the front pockets of his jeans and said, “Well I didn’t dis you or your car. Actually you dissed me and my car. Which mine _is_ better and kicked your car ass last time we raced. I’m just stating the facts.”

Lance wondered if it would make him look like a punk if he knocked Keith out. He was not afraid to admit his temper left a lot to be desired but in this case, Keith was being way too causal about this and it infuriated the hell out of him.

To throw down or not, that was the question.

Lance hmped and jutted his chin defiantly. “Yea? Big deal, we’re back and my baby has 500—“

Pidge corrected, “700.”

“What she said. 700 hundred horsepower. And I improved on my shaft work too.” He noticed his blunder too late, his vocals birthed life to it, the air carried it.

Stick, he meant stick.

Lance maintained a neutral face but a scorching blush burned slowly over his cheeks.

Keith seemed to be in the process of his comment, equally stunned and wordless.

Hunk stage whispered to Pidge, in time for the witty retort with a replenished stock of chips and dip, “Did he say ‘shaft’?”

Shay scooped a hearty helping and crunched loudly, riveted.

“Oh my god, Lance McClain. Master of the Shaft,” Pidge laughed and reached for a chip.

“Too Shaft, Too Furious,” Shay gargled with a mouth full.

“Shaft?” Keith questioned with his mouth pursed in an effort not to laugh rudely at Lance.

“Stick!” he hissed. “You know what I meant, dude.”

His crew developed a few more catchy names and modified movie titles to fit his new blubber. Here were a few for your reading pleasure, _The Lord of the Shaft, The Game of Shaft, Crouching Tiger Hidden Shaft, The Nightmare on Shaft Street, Shaft Wars: The Shaft Awakens._ They lost their appeal by the fifth movie adapted title but his friends were still rolling.

Just as Keith opened his mouth to comment further, a woman stomped up to him, ebony skinned and a breathtaking vision in camouflage pants and a tank top, and tugged on the sleeves of his jacket.

“The race is about to start—“ Allura noticed Lance on her peripheral and waved. “You again, I hope you made some improvements to your car. It would suck to cream your ass all over again.”

Pidge appeared so suddenly next to him Lance jumped slightly, startled by her silent approach.

 “We did,” she said.

Allura positioned herself over Pidge’s petite stature and cocked out a hip. “Guess we’ll see how it measures up in in the race.”

“I guess so.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

“Damn. Allura threw you some mad shade,” Lance said.

“I need you to focus on this race. No more hate flirting with Keith as much as I enjoy it. I like winning more.”

He scoffed, “I don’t flirt.”

“Then stop saying you’re going to teach him how to ride.”

“I was talking about driving. Duh,” Lance countered with an attitude mastered purely by Valley girls and entitled customers.

“Yea, Lance it doesn’t come off like that at all. It sounds like you’re gonna fuck him.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t care if you take it from behind, Lance. I call my vibrator Dean Winchester so I’m the last person to judge.”

He rolled his eyes, “Wow, you are so missing the whole point.”

“Do you mean the point where you’re sexually frustrated?”

“I didn’t make him hot.”

“So you do think he’s attractive?”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance drove the Mustang smoothly to the lineup. His crew walked beside the car on the slow approach. Keith and his crew were not too far behind. Lance saw the Challenger’s candy apple red iridescent sparkle in the dim light.

He eased on the brakes at the freshly spray painted marker.

Shay leaned in through the driver’s window and hugged him. “Good luck, boo.”

She backed out and let Hunk through.

Hunk seized his shoulder and squeezed. “We’re counting on you, Shaft Master.”

Lance laughed, “I’m going to run you over, dick.”

“Right, right. Good luck out there. Don’t be too furious.”

He made a fist and bumped it to Hunk’s and fluttered the hands away with an explosive sound effect.

Pidge wiggled in next, “I would save the nitro for last. It’s gonna give you a serious kick so have a good grip on the wheel.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Don’t lose,” she teased and ruffled the grown out and wild strands of his hair. He had inch until he looked like another beach body down on the surf of Cali.

Lance carded the hair out of his eyes. “You have no faith.”

“Watch your ass,” she said before joining the others on the sidelines.

The long hood of Keith’s Challenger rolled up in corners of his vision. Headlights brightened up the darkness expanding in front of them. A low purr rumbled darkly from both cars as they idled.

Lance looked across where Keith’s window lined up a few inches away from his ride and waited for the dude to feel his stare and lifted his head in a quick whip and handed him a lazy smile. Keith eyed him, hard, and revved his engine. The beautiful, majestic sound startled a few of the people watching and they cheered after they recovered.

Oh boy, here we got a challenge.

He worked the clutch and put one foot on the brake and pressed the other firmly on the gas and heard his rear wheels screeching out black streaks on the street. The people on Lance’s side hollered and whistled.

He threw Keith a vague sign with his hand as he released the pedal.

Keith rolled his eyes and did the same.

“Get a good look at my ass, Keith, it’s all you’re going to be seeing tonight,” he taunted.

Pidge snipped on the curb, “Didn’t we talk about this?”

“I hope you like to eat ass cause you’re gonna eat my shit tonight.”

Allura dropped her head, “Keith, what— That’s not how you insult someone. Jesus.”

The line of Lance’s chin jerked and he revved the engine again. To spite him, Keith followed his example. Their mechanics complained and told them to quit jerking each other off.

A young pretty thing with long legs in a skirt short enough to allure the stares of all alike, sauntered between the car. Legs gliding in a gait for a sensual prowl. Soft fingers trailed on the side of both cars as she made her way to the starting line.

“Ready boys?” She asked, skin golden from the sun.

They both revved their cars in agreement. Lance’s eye trained on the girl’s arm as she brought them over her head, her top rose an inch and her skin pulled taut on the belly. He got the car into gear and developed speed to launch his car once the race started, the purr of the Mustang growly steadily into a deafening roar of power and speed.

If his car could speak, she would be _demanding_ Lance to let her off the leash and dominate the road.

When the anticipation mounted thick and all consuming, like mass of pressure and weight on his lungs, she flung her arms down.

And boy, did Lance _take off_.

So in sync with his car and the clutch, he didn’t have to glance as he shifted the gears and accelerated.  The Mustang tore up asphalt.  In the mirror, the people cheering at his back shrunk into an old painting from the impressionist era, their features vague and nondescript and clothes swatches of flat colors.

For the first five seconds, Lance took point, gracing Keith with taillights.

On a turn, both cars cut their brakes and drifted hard, rear tires whipping outward as the front battled to maintain inertia to the unrelenting momentum. A majestic sound thundered from the friction of tires on road at max speed.

Lance strengthened out, too late to regain his previous position but he planned to overtake Keith on the next one.

He hopped lanes, smoothing over yellow lines to line up parallel to the Challenger, Keith parried him on each try, zooming his car into the pathway over to zip back again when Lance tried the other lane.

Bad move on Keith’s part because precious amount of his attention fixated on him instead of the upcoming turn.  Lance’s drift easily exceeded their difference and set his car in the lead.

He floored it, grinned up at the headlights bright in his rear mirror as Keith rode his ass.  Lance knew it was a tactic to get him distracted about his paint job and knew Keith would drive in the lane next to him. And he could be the better man and let Keith get to it and have a good old face off but nah, Lance was a dick so he shipped back the same deal and blocked every opening.

Keith eased off the accelerator and thrust a hand out his window and flipped Lance off.

Lance returned the gesture, whooping, with one hand on the wheel and not a damn shit given in the world. The wind rushed in, blasted cold ocean air on his face and flicked his bangs in and out of his eyes, and bellowed over the guttural rumble of the Mustang as she kicked up the meter to eighty.

Yellow streets light occasionally bathed the road with some color.

The sleepy homes and businesses took their music, their energy, their image and served it back in echoes, dull vibrations, and duplicates speeding on glass windows like ghost cars.

Wild maniacs, they were. Risking their fucking lives, chancing time on the local news, playing Russian Roulette with the cops.

And why; for the thrill.

This— don’t laugh— _need_ to speed down every road like their great grand daddy constructed the first streets themselves. Started the ground work from day one and kept up the passion through each generation so he could have it now.

Worship it.

Run it.

Own it.

Truth or complete bullshit, Lance did.

He owned that damn road.

And cool fact, he owned Keith’s ass too. That what happened when you stepped to the king, baby.

You got schooled.

 

 

[x]

 

 

He wouldn’t stop smirking. Hard not to when you kicked all the ass but he tried to tone down the aura of _step up to me so I can wreck you too_ to about fifty percent. Everyone walked up to him and shook his hand, clapped his shoulder, and slurred their congratulations. While Lance did win, the final seconds of the race was a close call. A second later and Keith would be on this end, receiving pats while Lance sulked in the loser side.

As fate would determine, Keith resigned in poor spirits on the loser side.

Half way through the verses of Super Bass, which Jorge’s monstrous stereo speaker rattled through the airwaves from the truck of his white Caddy, Keith bummed over to the winner circle. It wasn’t quite a circle. No winners gathered there but Lance; he just took to self-titling things as he wished.

Keith’s boots stepped over the torn magazine cover with one of the Kardashians’ face on it before he moved to slouched on the wall next to him.

He drank his beer, licking its bitter remnants off his lips as he considered the label. “So I see extra time with the shaft paid off.”

Lance doubled over and covered his mouth so he didn’t cough out good beer. He recovered after a painful swallow with burning nostrils.

 “Haters gonna hate,” he wheezed.  “ Nah but seriously, good race. You’re a god damn beast.”

“You’re only saying that cause you won,” Keith said. “You’re decent.”

Yea, it helped but a second round with Keith only showcased the man’s expertise and training behind the wheel. Sure any Joe could hop in his Honda and drive but there was a whole difference from your average commuter to a racer and every stitch of blood and bone in Keith spoke of one. A damn good ass one at that.

He had to give kudos. That, and Keith looked pretty cute with his hair up in a ponytail and black bangs flapping prettily his face when the ocean wind blew.

Cute dude with a nice ride, Lance was so easy.

He waggled a finger. “Green doesn’t look good on you.”

“You just want to hear me say I think you’re good.”

Lance shrugged as though that wasn’t the outcome he was aiming for. Of course, he did with all his ever loving, non-cocky grace of his. “You don’t gotta but my ego would really love it.”

“Fine, you’re good driver.”

“Aw man, Keith. That’s so nice of you to say.”

Keith’s deep blues sparkled radiant with mirth. He smothered the real sound by taking a sip. The fragment of it kind of launched the nuclear codes in his body. Lance thought he might like it.

 “You’re a dick,” Keith told him like the information was old and recent news to Lance.

And, okay, he was a mild dick. A nice dick. The lovable dick.

He kicked back a foot on the brick wall behind him. The textured surface scraped the rubber sole of his converse.

 “Real talk though. A little truth, it’s kinda annoying how good you are,” he admitted, grin wide with his teeth displayed. “Like I feel like that girl in that vampire movie before she realize that dude was a vampire. You remember, there were all these clues and shit. And she went a book store— which, hello, fucking Amazon— and bought a book and fucking googled one word from it. Like why did you buy the book in the first place?”

“You mean— Twilight? Are you saying this is like Twilight? I’m taking back everything I said. I can’t believe I thought you were cool, dude.” Keith shook his head and pretended to be in such a state of distress that he couldn’t bare the sight of Lance.

He made to move, not really _moving_ cause some part wanted this conversation to last, and waited for Lance to stop him.

Lance yanked on the hem of his jacket, the back of his fingers accidentally coasting their backs on the little bit of skin. They fell back when the skin rippled hot and electric like a bare, running wire. “Wait, wait! I really am cool.”

“I can’t believe you remember that much.”

Lance clarified. “Dude, FX reruns that shit every month. Half the time, I’m too lazy to change the channel,” he said. “It’s actually funny as hell if you’re high.”

“Right, right. What a convincing story.” Keith’s brows wiggled, playful.

“Are we flirting? It sounds like we’re flirting. I knew you wanted some of the Lance.”

“Shit, you wish.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

By this time of the night, most of the races and competition were completed. The winners collected crash and ass. All but Lance, who was honestly having too much fun teaching Keith how to properly do the Cha-Cha slide.  Actually to be more accurate it was a lot of Keith shying away and Lance coaxing him back and both didn’t realize it in the moment, but they’re totally hanging out and having fun. Pidge went on his behalf and started a civil conversation with Allura about cars. Hunk and Shay were on the other side of the gathering where a van played A.B Quintanilla.

And wow, where the fuck did that rivalry go cause it sure as fuck ain’t here.

It was the beer, the good vibes between everyone, the unadulterated passion for fast car and the life under the inky sky.

No rules.

No laws.

Until the cops showed up.

The sirens beeped and the whole colony paused like meerkats startled by a sound, sickly silent, and then a mass explosion of rushing bodies, chaotic voices shouting over each other, the frenzied pitter patter of footfalls down concrete, girls forsaking their heels and running bare foot, guys trying to salvage most of the beer,  doors slamming harsh into the frame, the car wobbling on the suspension before all four wheels squealed and they spun like dogs on ice, grappling for leverage to propel them.

Scattered paper plates, bottles, and cans flipped flopped whichever direction the air persuaded.

A real shit show.

Hunk and Shay blazed for the Silverado parked in the back, managing a velocity that would make the Flash proud.

Pidge matched Lance’s stride to the Mustang. She jerked the passenger door open, about to fold in, when he yanked her by the back of her shirt and closed it.

She opened it again.

Lance pushed it close.

Pidge glared. “Lance.”

“Go with Hunk. You know they go after the race cars.”

A fight braced her body, hands going to ball into fists. “Lance—“

The Silverado braked abruptly beside them, Hunk laid on the horn. “Pidgey, we need to go now.”

Shay unlocked the back door and flung it open for her.

She hollered from the front seat, head popped between the center console. “Get in, girl. We only have quarter a tank.”

“Coming,” she climbed the stir up and slid in the back, buckling her seat. “Don’t get caught,” she warned.

Caught, ha.

As if.

Lance of all people, could you believe—

 

[x]

 

The cops were on his ass, boys in uniform loved to flag down hot rods.

 That, and you could see Lance’s ride wasn’t bought off the lot and driven day to day on the notion of transportation. It had the build of a car made to go fast and break the speed limit. It had the right equipment to enhance the Mustang, put that sweet piece of metal down a long stretch of road and let it _fly_. Wheels for racing, rim stylish but efficient, the exposed mufflers on the hood coughing out carbon monoxide, the white racing stripes.

Also he did just flee from a gathering of follow racers and the speed limit didn’t rank high on his list. He ran a few reds.

So red and blue flashed. The rearview mirror refracted back police cars as they zoomed in closer in the reflection only to lose Lance on a quick turn or a sly juke and to shrink back. The sirens blared, ear shattering and like someone’s skull to a bricked wall on an infinite loop and so incredibly loud that he’d still hear them hours later.

He took the streets he was familiar with, did all the tricks to have all three police issued vehicles slamming on their breaks and turning the wheel. These cops were good though. One especially had it bad for Lance, no matter how swift the maneuver, this cop hounded him.

Probably helped that the cop drove a Charger, so unlike the others kids he had speed to at least keep pace with the Mustang.

The Mustang surged out from residential and back on to the main road. Streets were empty so Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Shit was dangerous if non-racers occupied the same space and Lance couldn’t bear to endure the guilt that his stupid driving cut the engine of another’s.

Yellow hand flickered, he was going to have to run another red.

He sped over the crosswalk and was about to cut halfway through the intersection when another car came rushing through.

Lance braked, a precious inch away from the driver’s front wheel, and hyperventilated for two reasons, one his life flashed before his eyes and of all of the faces in the memories of his mind blinking at light to his retinas, Keith’s face was one of them.  After his family, Pidge, Hunk, and Shay, of course.

Still, his boner indoctrinated his brain and yea, guy was magnetic and cute but Christ, slow down.

Oh and two, the real Keith was clutching his steering wheel with the same terror going through him.

Sirens bounced off the vacant streets, off the glass windows, and grew near.

Blue and red beams cut vividly through the yellow lit night life from each respective driver’s rear end.

Like the real geniuses they were, they lingered on the middle of the intersection and gawked.

Keith thought it was smart to bitch out, “Where the fuck are you going, dumbass? Don’t take that interstate, its closed off. Use the streets.”

Lance argued back, mildly tempted to release the break and dent his car but 5-0 was hot on their asses and applying damages to Keith’s ride meant equal or more damage to his own. ” I was using the streets, they have fucking Chargers.”

Keith checked his mirror, Lance mimicked him. The raven’s apple red Challenger enticed a total of three cruisers.

Keith adjusted his wheel and eased away from the bumper of Lance’s Mustang. “Follow me. Can’t have you getting fucking arrested.”

“Wow, what a saint.”

The Challenger peeled off after Keith shouted, “Try to keep up.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance tailed Keith’s ass, unsure and starting to feel some tendrils of apprehension cause they charged down into a neighborhood with sharp corners and no momentum to get away from the cops. One cruiser revved hard on his bumper, Lance gunned it.

Maybe he should peel off and let Keith fend for himself. Bogus, yea, but they’d both get caught if they played this game any longer.

Then he felt it. A low, deep rumble on the road, transferring over vibrations to the rubber of his wheels and the interior of his seat. A horn boomed as mountainous and startling as gunfire.

Apparently, Lance wasn’t the only person to watch those dumb Fast and Furious movies.

A fucking train.

Brilliant.

Beat the train, beat the cops, drive off into the sunrise and tell every willing ear about the daring tale of Lance and Keith against the entire Cali police department.

Rad.

Expect for one minuscule factor. Just a smidge detail overlooked by two dumbasses too giddy with excitement at a successful getaway.

The cops were on the other side.

 So while the Mustang and the Challenger sailed through the air, boosted by nitro and the inclining hill, wheels riding on nothing but air; three cruisers whipped their tails out and formed a barrier.

 Despite the fact that Lance lived in the state where it prime cash flow stemmed from  blockbuster films with outlandish budgets, stunning actors, directors high off their wealth and their movie hit, and mediocre scripts where the hero always won, landed the babe, thwarted evil and the laws of common man.

Lance didn’t.

Movies, man, so unrealistic he thought when one officer sledgehammered his torso and face like a nail through plywood to the hood of the cruiser.

The cop read him his rights but a louder, more distressing sound resonated over his rehearse speech— cuffs. They bit, cold and harsh around his wrist. He tested it and felt the pressure of metal on his skin.

Fuck.

Don’t impound his car.

Please.

“Your car is going to impound,” the cop explained after he finished Lance’s rights.

Excellent.

A second body dented the hood, Lance managed to turn his face and get a decent look. Keith was treated none too gently. The hand on his head pinned Keith in place and it was probably unpleasant going on the grimace that tugged at his features like the pain was severe and piercing. Red and blue off the cruiser’s roof profiled the bridge of Keith’s nose and one of his eyes that wasn’t currently crammed to the car.

Guy looked _pissed_ , as though if given permission he’d eat the cuffs with his bare teeth. Understandable, Keith thought a second ago he’d saved both their asses and earned bragging rights and that victory was swiftly tarnished.

Back talking would serve crueler handling and Keith seemed the type to suffer in silence anyway. But he attempted a form of a smile at him.

Guessed that ride into the sunset was officially off the table, then.

 

 

[x]

 

 

An officer unlocked his cuffs and shoved Lance into the cell, his spine stiffened when the metal bars banged and the lock on it engaged. If the back wall had any paint, it might look like an off white but most of it was exposed brick with chipped corners and dusting mortar.

Keith was slouched on the metal bench so Lance didn’t have to worry about some of the other dudes trying to throw their weight and intimidate him. One guy was pissed drunk and snored. Two others looked no older than them but angrier and with bloodied fists. The last guy had every inch of his body inked and a long white beard.

Nice ink, Gandalf.

Lance moved over by Keith.

He scooted so they both could fit and create as much distance as possible between them and everyone else.

“Shit,” Keith cursed, like it clicked in his head— where he was, who he was with, what might happen.

Yup, it was Shit City and they were the mayors.

Lance folded his arms and bounced one knee. “So seeing as we’re both in the slammer, you wanna fuck?”

An unplanned laugh escaped Keith. Gandalf flicked his eyes over at the sound briefly, then stroked his coarse beard and tried to sleep.

“Why did I help you again?”

“Cause under all that angst and jealousy, you got the hots for me,” he answered. The quiet of the holding cell had a stereo effect on every sound. It absorbed the nose and amplified it to the roar of a military jet in lift off.

Keith minded his volume more than he did.

“I think you’re talking about yourself. I don’t know how many times I’ve caught you staring at my ass, you have a loud stare.”

“Well, your ass is loud and you’re hot but that’s about it. And a halfway decent driver. You’re not that impressive,” he shrugged.

“Said the guy trying to impress me,” Keith snipped back cheekily.

Lance laughed, butt shifting on the bench. The guy might not come off as a buff jock but there was some solid, hard mass in his upper arms when Lance brushed nearer. “No congenial visits for you, friend.”

“Do you want to be my prison bitch if we serve time?”

“Excuse me but you are _my_ prison bitch.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance unhooked the phone from the receiver and punched in the number. Pidge answered on the second ring, “Hello?”

“So, I’m in jail.”

“Shut up.”

“Nope. It’s pretty legit. They put me in a cell and everything. My mug shot came out really nice though so there’s that.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Pidge said, breathed pitched in disbelief. Static crackled in his ear as she tried to rein in the panic in her voice. “Are you okay? Have they posted your bail yet, when are you seeing the judge?”

“Whoa, relax,” he said.

“How are you not freaking out? You can serve time. They can take your license, Lance. Don’t fucking joke right now.”

“True but we’ll cross that bridge when it comes, okay? Just chill for me, yea. My hearing is tomorrow at nine. So if you guys could come, I would really appreciate that.”

“Of course we’re fucking coming. You don’t have to ask, Lance. I mean you’re an idiot and all but you’re my idiot.”

Lance “Thanks, man.”

“I should’ve been there with you. This wouldn’t have happened if I was there.”

He said quickly, “No. Don’t say that. I fucked up. It’s on me. I’m glad you weren’t there. Better than us both getting a record. You’re too smart for the joint.”

“Lance.”

“I have to go but I need you to do two things. Don’t tell my mom, she’ll cry and I don’t want her getting upset. Two, get in contact with Allura.”

“What, why?”

“Keith got arrested with me and he couldn’t get a hold of her when he called. His hearing is at the same time. They might try us together. I don’t know but the guy needs support too.”

“Alright. I’ll do that. Don’t worry, I’ll fucking drive them if I have too.”

“Thanks, Pidge. Really.”

“Don’t drop the soap, alright?”

Lance grinned, forearm braced on the wall. “I’ll try but you know how clumsy I am.”

“Be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Two guard ushered Lance and Keith from holding and brought them before the judge. The cuffs at his wrist clanked, the metal abrasive on his skin. Keith’s wrists looked red at the bone.

“The defendants, Lance McClain and Keith Kogane, were both arrested this morning at two a.m. under the charge of engaging in illegal street racing. When the cops broke up the race, the two fled and prompted a purist. We would like to set the fine at twenty-five hundred.”

The judge nodded, listening, as he scanned over the case file.

Their legal counsel, provided by the state, looked up from his notes and said, “Both my clients plead guilty on the charge of illegal street racings, your honor. I would like to make the court aware that despite the purist, no serious harm came to any of the officers, civilians, or street property.”

“Considering this is both Mr. McClain and Mr. Kogane first offense with no priors and both fully employed, I’m setting the fine at two hundred and hundred and fifty days of community service. Your licenses will be suspended until you’ve completed your services and the fine is paid.”

Lance and Keith looked at each other. Lance was the first to crack a relieved smile. Keith came in second, the budding more tentative.

Both looked at the judge next and said, “Thank you, your honor.”

The judge thumbed the metal lining over his glasses, skin weathered and dotted with dark spots. The sleeves of his robe whispered as he sorted through the numerous files on the desk. “I hope you boys understand I was very lenient with my sentencing. Complete your hours and pay the fee and don’t let me catch you in here again. Or I will give you jail time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Case dismissed. Bring in the next one. We’ll take a recess afterwards.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

After some tedious paperwork, their belongings were returned along with the address where both cars were impounded the night of.  Lance’s wallet, sealed and numbered in a plastic baggie, lamented over the critical hit on his savings. The money was there, enough for situations such as these but that didn’t mean no pain was felt running to the bank and withdrawing the cash and reading his new balance on the receipt.

“Fuck,” he moaned as passed the envelope of cash through the chute. The clerk opened it and licked her thumb and counted the hundreds.

He didn’t have the courage to watch her pile it on the counter so Pidge observed her intently under the notion of Lance not getting fucked again by the man.

When she finished, she asked for the paperwork given by the judge and Lance’s ID.

Head permanent friends with the bend of his elbow, he dropped his card next and pocketed the wallet.

He whined to the white and brown speckled granite counter tops. “I’m surprised you have all this money.”

“My mom taught me to save it. You know for shit like this.”

“Good thing.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered.

Pidge soothed circles on his spine, “You can ask your tio for more hours at the shop.”

“Can’t, I have community service to do.”

“Oh yea,” she said, more a comment to herself than anything else.

The clerk handed Lance’s ID and a copy of his completed payment.

He lifted his head and scanned the paperwork, “That’s it?”

“You’re all set. It will take a day or two for the payment to go through the system and for the fine to be lifted. So don’t stress if it still shows. If a week passes and you’re told that you owe, bring that paperwork to the courthouse and they’ll clear it.”

“Alright, thank you.”

“No problem. I can help whoever’s next in line.”

They went to an isolated bench while Lance re-sleeved his card. “So where are you doing your service?”

“Oh, at some animal shelter. Keith said he knows the guy who’s like the owner’s best friend. We just have to have him call the courthouse and let them know. He’ll log our hours and everything.”

“Wow, in the joint a day and you two are prison besties. Are you guys going to take the bus together too?”

“Aw shit. I forgot about that.”

“I can give you a lift.”

“Well it’s just…” he petered off, shy.

Pidge barked a crude laugh, “Oh my god, you really are going to go together. So lame.”

“Shut up. It made sense. Plus I don’t know the place, he does.”

“Yea, Lance. _Sure_ ,” she teased, freely enjoying herself at his expense.  “No but seriously, I’ll drive you.”

“No. I got an idea.”

 

[x]

 

 

Lance thumbed through his contacts and dialed Keith.

Picturesque Cali weather made even the most desolate of places look like an artistry vision from an unknown indie movie. A cloudless sky painted everything with strokes of white. The breeze off the seaside lent the air a scent of salt and suntan lotion.

Keith answered, sounding distracted with the radio playing through a list of preselected songs, mostly generic pop that every retail store across the nation had going on the store’s speakers. “Yea?”

“Boy, I’m waiting on your booty. Hurry up.”

“Five minutes, I can’t find my shoes.”

“Okay,” Lance disconnected the call and banked his ride tight to the curb. He fooled around on his phone until he heard someone trudging down the steps.

Keith jogged down the stairs, charcoal hair a unrefined thing and clothes normal compared to his _I slay dragons, also I’m the new Final Fantast character_ outfit from that night, and pulled up short on the bottom step as he saw Lance’s ride.

Which was a 08 blue Mongoose on tires with zero traction and a neon blue paint job. The seat was awful on his ass, the rubber grip on the bar were peeling, the paint too in some places but it was one of those object you grew close with for some inexplicable reason.

Lance hitched his shade over his snapback, grinned and honked the horn attached to one of the handle bars on his bike. “I told you I’d hook you up with a ride. Hop on.”

Keith squinted against the sun, “Dude it’s really far.”

“Have you seen my legs? Look,” Lance planted his heel on the curb and rolled up his cargo shorts past his thighs. He flexed, there was some muscle definition. Not enough to put Thor out of commission but he could probably crush a can between them. “Hard steel. Touch, touch.”

He seized Keith’s hand and dragged it over the swell of muscle. “Feel that. Power.”

“I feel this,” Keith pinched his squishy outer thigh.

Lance swatted his hand. “God made me thick, don’t judge.”

“There’s no way I can stand on the back the whole time. Let me get my bike.”

 

 

[x]

 

Coran, friend of the owner and the head supervisor of the shelter that doubled as a refuge for animals and a clinic, called in the courthouse and verbalized that both would complete their service here and Coran would log in their hours himself with his signature.  While he did that, they filed out some paperwork regarding their experience and comfortability with all animals, any allergies, health conditions that should be made known.

Lance knew for a fact that they had a room full of kittens here so at the bottom of the form he wrote, _will work for kitties._

He made Keith read what he wrote down, grinning to himself the whole time. “You know we won’t get to play with the kittens for a few weeks.”

“Why not?”

“Cause we’re noobs.  And I think they let a lot of the tiny volunteers work with them.”

Lance leaned into Keith’s space and checked what he put, “Well, well look who else wants in on the kittens.”

“Why do I feel like you’re going to make this a competition?”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am going to pet one before you do.”

Despite the obvious bait, Keith took it. “Oh yea? Jokes on you cause I’m going to pet them all first.”

“You monster,” Lance stage gasped. “This has been my dream.”

“You literally thought it up five seconds ago.”

“That’s still a dream.”

Coran waltzed in, cutting their banter abrupt. “Alright, kiddos. We’re in the clear. Lemme read your forms really quick and we can put you two to work.”

He hummed, stroking the red whiskers of his beard.  “We’re looking good here. So no serious health issues or allergies. Excellent. We were looking for two young men.” Coran beckoned them to follow.

They crossed through the main lobby and went into the kennel. In the front kennel housed smaller breeds of dogs and puppies. Kittens and cats had a secluded kennel area to themselves. The larger breeds of dogs were placed in the back which took up the most room, they had two for the bigger dogs and each was as spacious as the lobby.

“It’s a bit loud in here but you’ll get used to it. We have ear plugs if it does bother you,” he said over the barking dogs. “These guys make a lot of sound but everyone here is completely harmless.”

Coran brought them to Haggar, an older woman with leathered skin and powder white hair that would knock Betty White’s to shame. She quickly put Lance and Keith to work with no remorse.

With face masks and gloves, they cleaned the kennels while the dogs were out.

Lance locked the cage and opened the next one.

He pulled his mask down to gag, face beaded at the temples with sweat and hair matted, then shot a heated glare over his shoulder at Keith.

“Dude I told you,” Keith’s voice was muffled by the mask. “You know you gotta do the grunt work before you get to the good stuff.”

“No, you’re a jinx. I’m not talking to you cause you jinxed us.”

He rolled his eyes, “I am not a jinx.”

Haggar marched down the aisle, snipping sternly like a drill sergeant, “I don’t hear a lot of cleaning.”

“I don’t hear a lot of cleaning,” Lance mocked behind her back.

Keith coughed in an attempt not to laugh. “Shut up, they’ll kick you out.”

Lance ducked inside the cage, muttering loudly, “Jinx.”

“ _I’m not a jinx!”_

Well, here was the start to the next 150 days.

 

 

[x]

 

 

On day 30 Haggar let Lance and Keith walk two senior dogs around the neighborhood. They carried doggie bags in their pockets. One dog was a slow moving chocolate Lab with a round frame named Tiny, ironically Lance was thinking. The other was a stubby American Staffordshire with white mittens and honey eyes named Ellie.

Two yippy Yorkies on a leash barked at them from across the street until they turned a corner. Ellie tugged on her leash, eager to greet _everyone_.  Tiny walked on with Keith, too old for that kind of shit.

They’re promoted to dog walkers the following week.

Lance had taken to wearing his badge of honor like a beauty queen would a sash.

Keith scoffed at him each time he showed up in the back room with the leash lassoed securely to his torso, ready at the drop of the hat to walk any and all dogs if need be.

But Keith was a hater, so.

 

 

[x]

 

Day 57, someone abandoned a three year old dog under an overpass. The cops lucky coaxed the dog with food into the car and brought him over. Higher ups dealt with incoming animals so Keith and Lance could only watch in their spare time or pry information from Haggar or Coran.

The dog ran a clean bill of health.

When Lance checked on him once he was logged into the system and assigned a cage and a number, Lance saw one health concern ignored by the professional.

Dog had a broken heart.

Lance begged Haggar to let him out for a walk and no walk could meld up a fracture heart no sooner could candies and soft talk could fix shattered bone. But he lingered less at the back of his cage and instantly recognized Lance’s voice over the hundreds of workers at the shelter.

 

 

[x]

 

 

Day 79, after a tough shift at the shelter they rode their bikes to a neat milkshake joint on the pier and ordered two to go. Sipping on creamy goodness, Lance single-handedly navigated through the throngs of bodies, losing and regaining sight of Keith. Their wheels ricocheted off the sanded planks of wood, each rotation resounded with muted thunks.

Waves raced to the shore, foaming white before they receded back with shimmers of pink and purple sunlight stealing real estate on the ripples.

They parked where the path ended and the ocean stretched on vast and poetic and something about those colors on the water, the salt in the air, the sweetness cold and decadent on his tongue had him scoping Keith out and his brain fitting the word _poetic_ to Keith’s face.

Poetic, he thought and remembered the one time he slipped on dog shit and fell on his ass.

Poetic, the time he stuffed cheese fries into his mouth and talked at the same time.

Poetic, in the way his socks always matched and his clothes were something respectively Keith.

Keith looked like the feelings inside of poems and sonnets as he scrunched his eyes and nose, a massive brain freeze taking its revenge on the guy.

Lance was convinced Keith was the reason you fell in love, the reason stars started, the answer to why the ocean and the moon worked in tandem, the myth to the legends in every folklore, the reason you knew why sunsets and sunrises were to be digested slowly with an reverence, the reason flowers popped with colors against moss green tree trunks.

A thousand percent convinced. He would write a thesis if he had too.

So naturally he patted Keith’s back as he suffered and said, “It’s called a brain, Keith. You use it for thinking.”

Keith bumped him,  hand still clutching his head. “I will throw you into the water like Scar did to Mufasa.”

“Keith!”

 

 

[x]

 

 

They’re not friends but they did find the thinnest of excuses to meet up and do things best friends typically do when they hang out.

But they’re not friends or anything.

Okay, kind of. Sort of.

Lance was crushing really hard on Keith so did that take away from their impromptu friendship? He didn’t know. What he did know was he stopped making excuses and flat out asked Keith on the days neither were busy with work to go out and do something.

Today was such a day to do exactly that. Pidge had special plans for Lance, who was experiencing severe symptoms from racing withdrawal. The last he had his hands on a wheel was when he drove a customer’s car in on the lift.

“Can I invite Keith?” He asked after he hugged Pidge and twirled them both.

“Yes you can invite your boyfriend.”

Lance said, unlocking his cell so he could shoot Keith a text. “He’s not my boyfriend. I have to ask him out first.”

“Are you using this to ask him out?” Pidge kicked back on her sofa.

“No…okay if the mood fits, then maybe. Should I not?”

“I think so. You guys look adequately gay together. Hunk and Shay are betting on who askes out who. “

 

 

[x]

 

 

The plan involved Pidge and them driving the Mustang out, with Pidge as the designated driver, to empty hanger owned by her father. The strip of black road spanned the length of two football fields. It brought them outside of LA perimeters so while they didn’t obey the guidelines of their probation, they weren’t totally disrespecting it.

Okay, it was a disregard for the law and their sentencing but when you’re a car junkie like them few opportunities could accommodate their particular fix.

Pidge switched the Mustang into park in front of the hanger.

Lance and Keith filled out from the back seat and scoped out the free range before them. “Why does your dad own this?”

“He’s a pilot, remember? He keeps his personal planes here.”

She showed the guys over to the massive metal doors, disengaged the lock, and cocked the hanger open so they could see the place.

Lance whistled, circling it in the dim room, “How are you working my tio’s shop? With money like this, your dad had to send you to a good engineer school.”

Pidge shrugged, “Yea but I like working with your uncle. Besides those cooperate auto shops are fucking awful. The pay is good but half of the people there are out to get your clients.”

Keith added, “Am I the only one here who doesn’t work on cars for money?”

“Wait, I thought you did.”

“No, Allura does. She got me into racing actually. I’m good at driving but that’s about it.”

“Alright. Stop gawking at my dad’s plane and go drive”

“On second thought, I wanna drive that, “ Lance joked and climbed the stool to pull on the handle.

Pidge fisted the back of his shirt, “Don’t freakin’ touch it.”

“Like your pops is gonna notice a smudge.”

“He will. He’s super anal about his planes.”

“Oh shit,” Lance balled the hem of his shirt and wiped the handle clean and nudged Pidge to hurry down the steps. “Run, run.”

Keith snapped their panic streaked faces on his phone, “I’m making this your contact image.”

“But I look ugly,” Lance whined. “You can’t.”

“This is like one bad picture of you, let me keep it. You look good in all the others.”

His shoulders drooped in surrender. “Ugh, fine.”

Pidge complained and pinched the front of her crop top with _Queen_ printed in hot pink, checking. ”My boobs look so small.”

“If it helps Pidge, my boobs are small too,” Lance consoled with a hand smoothing her tiny arms.

She gave him a titty twister.

 

 

[x]

 

 

“You want the honors?”

“You gonna let me go first?”

“Unless you need a lesson from the master.”

“Jesus, no. I’ll pass on that one.”

They piled in and buckled up. Keith smoothed his hands respectively on the wheel, right hand learning the shape and grip of the clutch. He started the car and the awakening purr rumbled through the open airspace and sounded thunderous and feral.

Keith grinned, “She sounds good.”

“Dude, she’s awesome on the road. But before you do that, we need ambiance.” Lance lifted the console and wrestled out a USB cord and linked it to the radio and his cell phone.

“Don’t play Nicki—“

Nicki Minaj’s _Only_ poured out from his back speakers.

Keith glared.

“Did you want Taylor Swift instead, you look like a Taylor guy.” Lance asked after he noticed Keith’s stare.  

“No wait. I got it.” The track changed, playing _Shut up and Drive_.

Keith’s eyes went wide.

Lance synced his lips with the lyrics, trying damn hard not to burst into laughter as he mouthed, “Baby, you got the keys.”

“I’m kidding. I have something better,” he swiped through his music and selected another song.

When the beat of _Gangsta’s Paradise_ pulsed through the interior, Lance bobbed his head, a smile wide on his face

Keith pressed on the accelerator and Lance’s body flung backward, the speed abrupt but welcomed, he rolled down the window and watched the landscape blur at supersonic velocity.

At the end of the road, Keith braked and whipped the Mustang’s tail to a smooth 180.

“Nice right?” He beamed, reading Keith’s excitement.

“Hell yea, can I go again?”

“Go ahead.”

The window on the driver side was down too so when he attempted to break the sound barrier, hair fluttered in and out of his face and the effect should make Keith look as appealing as a man who wrangled with the likes of a big cat and lost. Instead he came out as though he _won_ the tussle and made damn friends with the animal.

The rear spun out in a semi-circle and jerk to a stop.

“Switch, I got a trick I wanna show you.”

They unbuckled, threw the doors open, ran to the other side and buckled in.

Lance worked the Mustang forward then back so the end faced the long strip of road while the front met the dessert landscape. He threw one arm on the back of the passenger’s seat.

The Mustang sped off in reverse, then braked and prompted the wheels to rotate and make three complete donuts streaks over the road.  Keith braced himself, shouting against the wind and the engine.

Lance eased off the accelerator and rode the last of the momentum until the car stopped.

“Rad, huh?” he asked once his equilibrium stabilized. The world normalized, set straight on its axis.

Then he turned to Keith, and the world began to spin around and taking him through a hundred more donuts.

“Teach me that and I might agree,” Keith smirked.

“Was that you asking the master to teach you?”

“Ugh, fine. Yes I want you to teach me, Master Lance.”

He looked soft and pretty being backlit by the sinking sun in the private space of his car like he deliberately knew how to reach into Lance’s chest and take a firm grip on his paper heart and squeeze it in pulses. Knew how to slant his jawline so air shotgunned out Lance’s mouth and never came back.

Evil, evil Keith. Someone should report him to the police, again.

Arrest this pretty guy and put him away so the world wouldn’t crumple to it knees.

And since the ctiy’s skyline sailed, features vague and foggy, out on the horizon, no one would show up in time to do that so Lance did.

Arrested his lips and kissed him soft as the sun streaming over his face. Waited until Keith moved his mouth too and a moan snuck out.

Lance broke off with a muted laugh, words ringing wet. “Fucking knew you wanted some of the Lance.”

“No. I don’t,” he said, and his voice exhibited elements that were unlike of its nature. Carried on airwaves like rings of nicotine smoke, enveloped his sense of sight like an smog over the crowns of skyscrapers. Tingled the nerve receptors in his central nervous system as though someone channeled lightning into it. Heat washed down his skin, akin to running water from a faucet.

“Yea? Then what’s going on with your hands and mouth?”

Keith groped his ass after some encouragement to Lance so he would lift his hips. His hand went under his briefs and pawed the cheek, finding the give of fat and punishing it in his grip.

Lance backed into it, weak for ass play, and felt that hand tighten on him.

“Dunno but I want to get back to it, so can you shut up?”

Feeling left out, Lance reached and grabbed Keith’s ass. “Just this once.”

“Awesome.” Keith chased lips like his ass could never quite gather the taste of Lance. Couldn’t get full on the multiple servings Lance provided.  He cupped the edge of Lance’s jaw, fingers fanning out over the bone,  and pressed his thumb so Lance opened up and slid his tongue in like that mouth was Willa Wonka’s factory and the candy was his teeth.

And fuck, fuck, fuck— this isn’t kissing on the beach, or kissing under the tree in your backyard. These were the kisses saved for sex against the wall, sex on all four like a bitch in heat, sex in public where everyday people passed by unaware that you’re getting it thick and good right now and whining against a balled fist.

A storm raged in his head, begging Lance to clamber across the console and mount Keith’s lap and make him shove both hands on his ass and rub them both to a dirty climax but that meant moving away from his mouth and right now Lance didn’t know how to let go.

So he made up for it by tugging impatiently on the back of Keith’s jeans, growling into the smacks between their lips until he managed to pop one of the cheeks.

Keith shivered, rasping into the meeting of lips, “Fucking horn dog.”

“Sorry, I’m an ass man.”

“Me too,” Keith fondled back, being savage in the right way that Lance was the one moaning hot and sloppy.

A tiny fist rapped on the hood and shocked Lance and Keith off each other, Pidge rolled her eyes dryly, “You guys done yet cause I’m hungry as hell and I could go for a Big Mac right now. Also please fix your pants, I can practically see the shape of your dick.”

“Stop lookin’,” Lance grumbled, hurriedly making his clothes presentable.

“Nice butt, Keith,” she commented as she perched the hood and glanced inside.

Keith blushed, cursing out Lance.

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t look at his ass, that’s my ass now. Property of Lance McClain.”

Now officially declared Property of Lance covered his face, “Stop talking. You’re making it worse.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Pidge burped, thumping her chest, “I’m going for chicken fries, you guys want anything?”

“Yea, get me those mini cheesecake slices. Me and Keith will share.”

Pidge took her tray and left.

“She’s going to tell everyone that we made out in the car,” Keith stated, sitting at a table outside of Burger King. The table had a blossomed umbrella to block out the sun but at this time of night, it did little.

Lance bit into his burger, chewing loudly. “Probably, you mind?”

Keith dipped a fry into ketchup and feed half to Lance and ate the reminder, “It’s cool. At least everyone will know you’re mine.”

Lance coughed, pink setting delicately all over his face. “I don’t know if I should feel aroused or flattered.”

 Keith pushed off his elbows and kissed Lance, all greasy burgers, salty French fries, and the sweetness of the many kisses they would share for days.

 

 

 

[x]

 

 

Hunk’s finger clicked furiously over the controller, “Thanks for asking out Keith. Won me fifty bucks.”

Lance paused and that earned him another death and his character laying on his back for support, “Is that what couples do, bet on other couples?”

Hunk revived him and Lance was brought back into play, minding greatly to board up all the windows this time.

“Yup, one of the perks. Let me know if you guys need help. Me and Shay are practically the gurus of long lasting relationship.”

He tipped his head back, groaning. “Ugh, I know. You guys were so gross in high school.”

“I thought we were cute.”

Lance scoffed, “You guys had the worst pet names for each other. Remember ‘sexy beast’?”

Hunk laughed, “Oh yea! Man I should tell Shay to bring it back.”

“Don’t put us through that again.”

“Shut up, I’m gonna bust your balls when you start calling Keith lovely dovely names. Unless you started?”

Mysteriously short on a verbal comeback, Hunk paused the level and turned. “Aww, you already started.”

“Can we please kill zombies?”

“This is so cute.”

Lance sought solace by burying his face into the carpet.

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance was on his back and about elbow deep under an old Chevy when a voice spooked him. As with any fright, Lance jolted forward and banged his head against dirty metal. He cursed, nursing it, and rolled himself out.

Keith stood in the empty garage, sheepish with a bag of takeout and pretty in the LA’s powdery blue noon sky. The streets hummed with electricity. One by one the street lamps turned on, yellow coloring the pavement.

He squatted, plastic rustling where he settled the bag down, and kissed Lance.

Keith made a face when he pulled back, “You taste like oil, dude.”

Lance palmed a rag thrown next to a few wrenches and an container of oil. He scrubbed his face, “Sorry about that. This fucking shit was leaking. I got it patched up now. Guess I forgot.”

Dissatisfied with Lance’s cleanup, Keith asked for the rag and went to the shop’s bathroom to run it under warm water, he came back to Lance opening the Styrofoam boxes and eating rice with his oil stained finger.

He cupped his jaw and turned his face and wiped him down as Lance chewed and groused at the rough treatment. Keith cleaned his hands next, getting the rag between the fingers.

“We should fuck in one of these cars,” Lance suggested, scoping food into his palm and tossing it back.

Keith dipped into the food container, following Lance’s lazy example. “What brought this on?”

“You. Wanna fucking ruin you, baby,” Lance said, voice sticky and syrupy like peaches.

“This is bullshit, how can you be sexy with grease and food in your mouth? Seriously.”

“You can clean me up, gorgeous. I’m dirty under this too.” Ever the tease, Lance worried his bottom lip and pulled on the zipper of his coverall, brown skin shiny and good to eat.

He swallowed, the action much slower and more potent. “But the food will get cold.”

“So,” Lance dragged a finger over his cheek, blue eyes a spellbinding thing filling rapidly with arousal , and kissed him wet and quick. “My cock’s hard just thinking about you.”

Keith put in zero resistance into the debate. He licked his fingers and swiped them down his jeans. “Okay, okay. That did it. You got condoms?”

“Uh. No. What, this is an auto shop not a sex store.”

“Guess we’re using spit then,” Keith said a moment prior to jumping Lance’s bones like a lion to a gazelle and slamming them back into a hard metal surface. Which duh a garage was filled with those and Lance should be a tiny bit concern since half of the metal shit in here could really harm him or Keith but Keith’s mouth— it was very important.

Also, he was slicking his tongue over Lance’s mouth like an untrained dog.

So mortality could fucking take a number and wait cause wow, so busy at the moment.

Keith bucked their hips, hands unapologetic on Lance’s ass, and groaned when he felt the hard bulge of his cock. “Fuck. Feel so thick.”

Lance rutted back, exhaling hard at the gritty contact of clothed dick to clothed dick. “Bet it would feel really nice in your hand.”

“I know a lot of places where it will feel nice,” Keith purred, his smirk an omen and a blessing.

“Look at you, being all nasty,” Lance teased, tongue dragging a nice path down Keith’s white neck where he had Keith lengthening it so he could get all the way to the collar of his shirt and latch there with lips and teeth.

And Keith was luxuriating beneath the care, voice a thing that rapidly deteriorated into something hot and wet that the simple pronunciation of his words could rocket Lance into Jupiter’s rings. Hands like claws where one played with his ass, smacking it and palming brainlessly, as the other ran into his hair and jerked on it.

“Coming from the guy who wants to get fucked in a garage.”

Lance’s mouth tingled from the ripples of his voice going up his throat, the newly formed hickey purpling up on Keith’s neck. “Speaking of coming…”

“Are you gonna make a joke?”

Lance rerouted his destination up. “No. I really wanna cum in the car.”

“You’re a bad mechanic,” he breathed, tone a long shot from disapproval and more friends with fondness and admiration.  “Alright, we’ll jerk off in the car.”

“Hell yea.”

“Close the door.”

“Yes, sir.” He saluted and skipped to the gate.

“You can act like you’re not too excited,” Keith said, words warm.

Hard to manage with the boner and eagerness bubbling under his skin but Lance managed, to a degree, and yanked on the chain, the gate banging when it hit the floor. The space felt private now, a little craved out nook for them from the world. Yea, it was his tio’s auto shop and it was redolent heavily of gas and oil and the color of the floor was an unrecognizable shade but it was something.

He pressed the switch on the controller pad, bringing the Chevy to ground level as the lift clicked. A metallic snap, like a tongue to teeth.

Keith pressed into him, hands on his waist making trips to rub his cock. The point of his nose traced sensually over the slope of his neck. Teeth found his ear,  “Fucking want you so bad, Lance.”

Lance groaned, automatically rutting on the cock flushed to his ass.  “Car’s unlocked.”

“You’re going in first. Want you on your back with your legs spread.” His voice was that lethal calm, the one before the storm, the kind right before they got in their cars and side eyed each other like the enemy.

It worked good then and it was working better now, god damn.

Lance nodded, body shaking so badly for it he could barely grip the door handle without Keith’s help.

He climbed in the back seat and rolled on his back and got to see Keith crawl above, eyes intense and dick bulging his jeans. With snap of the door, they’re bathed in darkness, the lights muted by the tinted windows.

Keith put his hands on Lance’s inner thighs and opened him.

Lance whimpered, spine arching. “Fuck, rub your cock against me, yea? Wanna feel it so bad, Keith.”

“You’re right. This is hot.”

In their tiny universe of shadowed windows  and faux leather seats, Keith’s eyes were black as they raked down his body. Little almond shaped black holes, doing as black holes did and pulling him deep into the vortex.

His breath hitched when Keith pinched the zipper on his coverall and finished the metal teeth to his cock.  Keith dipped into his underwear and popped his dick out, mapping his girth and shape with explorative strokes.

He bucked languidly into his fist, whining at the slow fire igniting in his gut. Listened to the wet slide of his cock in Keith’s hand. The car absorbing the minor movements in the backseat.

“Baby.” Lanced touched his arm.

“What? Coming already?”

“Not enough close.”

Keith purred,” I should fix that.” He sat his cock up straight, damn thing had a round curve to it, and maneuvered himself low so he could suck the head easily.

He about came on the spot, looking at those pretty lips wide and red with his fat cock.

Whined at the way Keith’s mouth just _knew—_ where to suck, where to lick, where to nibble. When to pump his wet cock. When to play and roll his balls, when to swallow one of those into his mouth. When to ghost a finger past his ball sack and _drag_ between his ass, acting like he was going to fuck Lance with his finger while he was at it, only to have Keith pull away and jerk his dick.

Heaven, Lance found it. It was his boyfriend’s mouth and yes, it was exclusive.

His eyes rolled shut cause he could _feel_ hot spit run down the shaft of his dick. “Fuck, Keith.”

He lifted his head, the movement sluggish with pleasure. He reached out and carded his fingers through Keith’s bangs, pushing the wet locks back and seeing his eyes closed in concentration.

Noticing his stare, Keith’s lids pulled back. “Perv, you like watching me?”

“Yea.”

“Slut.” Keith slanted his head, eyes watching Lance, and opened his mouth wide and laved the flat of his tongue from the base to the crown. Lance was practically whimpering when he reached the top.  “Think your wet enough?”

He nodded, hands impatient where they tugged on Keith’s clothes. “Yes, yes. Wanna feel you already.”

Keith slurped on the head for good measure and drew up with a grin twisting wolfishly on his face.

Lance was starting to get smug each time a smile spread smoothly across Keith’s lips.

It was a feeling prey must feel before being devour though in place of terror and fear, arousal and need boiled under his skin and his eyes didn’t dare track away from Keith slinking on top of him like he was dinner. Like a difficult hunt warranted this strung out tasting.

Keith lowered, their bodies pressing hot and hard.

Lance loved the pressure. The fucking weight.

Keith lined their mouths and kissed him, the taste of Keith and his cock filling his mouth and making Lance moan.

They kissed, lips parting, tongue slicking between, moans and groans getting lost in the middle of clicking teeth and slippery tongues. As elegant as kisses could go, they were at the junkyard level. Fucking little dogs in a rut and no release in sight so anything that could provide some pleasure was abused and that what they did now.

Used the shit out of each other. Kissing like it was the first and the last.

Messy but god damn did it light a fire under his ass.

But he was woefully one dick short and Keith promised some cock rubbing. “Get your dick out.”

“Oh the romance,” he exhaled.

“Shut up,” Lance dipped a hand between them and cupped the curve of dick tenting thick through his jeans.

Keith moaned, hips seeking out more friction.

“Someone’s horny,” he teased, mouthing the side of Keith’s neck. “Should I let him out to play?”

“Please. Lance.” And his voice needed to seriously calm down with that husky, deep inky blue shit cause Lance’s brain went on the fuzz every time and motor control headquarters were located somewhere in his noggin and his hands wouldn’t work without it.

Brain rebooted and motor control operational at twenty percent, he popped the button and worked the zipper, the sound gratifying. Teeth grazed the skin under his jaw for his trouble.

He slipped his hands under his clothes, ran past pointy hipbones to the plump curve of Keith’s ass and squeezed.

Keith pushed up on his elbow, one hand pushing his jean over his ass since Lance couldn’t be bother.

What, his hands were full.

“Having fun?”

Lance laughed, “Dude your ass is amazing.”

“Yea, well my ass isn’t the one who needs attention.”

“Fine, fine,” he jerked Keith’s cock, the shaft fat and hot. Shit, there went his brain, all on fuzz and static.

Lance rasped out, “Better?”

Which it had to be cause Keith was moving. No, not moving, fucking. He was fucking Lance’s hand, propped stable on his hands and head dropped between his arms. From this angle, it was difficult to say for certain, but he was damn sure Keith was watching his own cock thrust into his fist.

“Hey now,” Lance tapped his skull.

A second later, Keith looked up.

He rumbled, “Busy.”

“I can tell but you’re leaving me behind, buddy.”

Keith checked down on their situation, humming and rutting tentatively. “You hold and I fuck, how about that?”

“Shit I’ll try.  You’re kinda long.”

“And you’re kinda thick. We’ll make due.”

“Cool, cool. Stop fucking moving—I can’t get a… There. Wait, you animal.”

Keith shifted his weight on one elbow and dipped his neck and kissed the line of Lance’s jaw while he worked. “Want you. Want you. Right now.”

“Jesus,” Lance cursed. “You’re making me hot.”

“Good.”

“Not good, I’m dealing with some slippery equipment here and— stop moving.”

“Wanna fuck you too,” Keith breathed next. Cause that was totally fair to whisper into someone’s ear.

Surprise, his ears blared with static and fuzz. Nice going, Keith.

“Wanna have you sit on my cock and ride it. Bet you’d love that, huh. I’ll turn you around so I can watch my cock stuff your thick ass.”

“Oh my god. Let’s just hump each other. I can’t fucking focus when you talk like that.”

“Sweet,” Keith cheered quietly and planted his forearms over Lance’s head and fucking _rolled_.

Lance hitched and knotted his legs over Keith’s ass and rutted with. “Fuck, fuck. Close, Keith. I’m right ther—“

He came, body convulsing like it was possessed,  toes curling in his boots and arms clutching desperately to Keith as he moved above him.

 Cum spurted thick and hot on his sternum. Lance was as useful as a overcooked noodle so he did little with his body and plenty with his mouth, encouraging Keith. Praising him. Telling him how good he’d give it to him next it.

Keith snapped his hips once more, all his limbs tensing as his cock jerked out cum.

He slumped down, a second overcooked noodle. Lance felt spunk soak into his skin and Keith’s shirt but whatever, he was already dirty and Keith could do with a day looking less than magnificent.

The windows in the car had steam on them. Power buzzed mutedly in the shop. It was so soundless that the noises of passersby and driving cars splintered through.

Lance combed Keith’s messy hair, immeasurably happy and light in his heart.

Keith dozed off, relaxed, the fall and rise of his breath matching Lance’s.

A scent infused the car, an dap of Keith and Lance all in one like a special cologne. Smelled spectacular to Lance, the owner probably wouldn’t share his opinion.

He started giggling before he realized it, spooking Keith with his shaking body. “You think the guy gonna notice the smell of jizz when comes back for it?”

“Doubt it.”

 

[x]

 

 

Day 143, Lance received some disturbing news from Coran.

He raced through the back doors, eyes landing everywhere but not finding Keith. There was only one place to search.

Lance barged through, trying to slam the door behind him even with the knowledge that they were all installed with silencers which absorbed the velocity and closed the door softly.

Keith sat in the corner by the cat supplies, half grinning at Lance’s stormy entrance. In his lap, two slumbering kittens coiled around one another, eyes closed and face peaceful.

“I can’t believe you,” Lance took the floor, folding his knees, and scooted.

His touch was delicate when he ran it over their tiny bones and feather soft fur. One of them stirred, stretching then curling inward, every inch of the kitten a solid grey saved for its toe beans.

“That’s Sean Bean,” Keith said, referring to the grey ball.

Lance coughed, “They named him ‘Sean Bean’?”

“I think it was Coran. He’s trying to name all the animals after celebrities. ”

“God, should I even ask what the other one is called?”

Nibbling down on his lower lip, Keith said as he pointed to the white and brown dotted fuzz ball. “Benedict Cumberbatch.”

Lance laughed, holding his sides. He traced Benedict’s expanding ribcage, careful of its bird thin bones.

Keith offered, comfortable and content with two kittens and his boyfriend chilling on his lap. “Someone brought a whole litter, you wanna meet the family? My treat for beating you.”

“First, you cheated. And second, hell yea man. I want to die knee deep in cats.”

“Slut.”

“For cats, yea dude. And for you too if you look cute.”

There was a different type of noise in the cat room, the light patter of paws on old newspaper, the crunch of teeth as cats coddled up food, paws brushing through cat litter, questioning meows.

Real serene, a coven of earth sliced up for them.

Okay, total bullshit. He was a sap and his heart was running miles, going mad, while being completely still so he was allowed to think that especially with a guy like Keith.

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance banked the Mustang neatly between a Honda and a rusty old Blazer, the engine grumbled low. His fingers uncoiled from the wheel, missing the smooth texture already. But damn, was it sweet to drive his angel all over town and to celebrate the moment, Lance decided to treat his other angel to an out night. Somewhere fancy where the trim had gold and everyone there looked like A-list stars.

He rang up Keith, glancing out the passenger window to his window. He had it cracked ooen and the wind insistently attempted to steal his curtains through the gap.

“What’s up?”

“Look outside, dude,” he said and climbed out.

Keith pried the window wider, hand settling on the sill. “You got your suspension lifted too? Wait, why are you wearing a suit?”

“Oh we’re going out tonight. We are free men.”

“With a record,” Keith corrected, watching Lance from above as he talked on the phone.

Lance planted his elbows on the roof. “A misdemeanor.  Which we can probably get expunge in a few years if we don’t get caught racing again.”

“I like the part where it’s a given that we’re going to street race. Again.”

“What, did you plan on giving it up?”

“Hell no. I still have to kick your ass after the last time.”

“Good or else it would be me and bunch of losers. I need a challenge.”

“Alright, law breaker. I’ll get ready. I might have suit somewhere, hopefully it fits.”

“I’ll be waiting, handsome.”

“You’re gross when you’re a sappy fuck.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

The restaurant was luxurious and wealthy from the lavish champagne curtains framed over French doors, to the sophisticated wallpaper with rich scarlet patterns, to the plush carpet that absorbed the impact of their department store purchased formal shoes, to the diamond cufflinks on the stewards white button down, the leather bound menu with embodiment cursive in gold.

But Lance wanted to treat Keith. To give him something good, somewhere where a dealer and a 7-11 didn’t share the same breathing space.

 So he shoved his comfortability back, linked arms with Keith in his grey suit and strutted past the eyes questioning the legitimacy of their bank account, of their right to enter this establishment with their non-name clothes.

Whatever, so he got this three piece at Kohl.  The deep indigo highlighted his blue eyes, the vest cinched at his waist, and the slacks curved right at his ass. He looked damn good for hundred bucks.

His boyfriend was another matter entirely— like dude was guaranteed ass the second he trekked down the chipped stairs of his apartment building.

Lance pulled the seat out for him and sat down after, both taking the menus from their stewards.

They cracked the leather and zoned out at the fine parchment and enormous price tags to every meal. Lance’s wallet shrieked in his pockets. Keith’s eyes went hysterically wide with horrid and absurdity.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” their steward snipped, clicking his pen and snobbing off to another table with a guy in his sixties and a model in a shimmery dress.

“Lance,” Keith whispered. “This is fucking–“

“I know, dude. I just thought I take you somewhere nice,” Lance explained.

“The cheapest thing on here is fucking thirty dollars and it’s dip. A fucking dip, am I going to shit gold bricks after I eat it? I don’t understand.”

Lance flipped the page, “Oh my god, look how much they want for grilled shrimp.”

“What page?” He peeked over.

Lance reached and found the page and pointed to the obnoxiously elegant print and photograph of the dish.

Keith sputtered into laughter and caused several disapproving heads to glare critically.

Lance made a louder noise to save his date from embarrassment.  

The heads turned to their million dollar meals.

“That’s insane.”

“Don’t even bother looking at the steak, my god I feel poor reading this.”

Unable to help himself, he looked and promptly snapped the menu closed. “Me too.”

Lance felt pink and tiny in this room of crystal champagne and red velvet and wondered if he just screwed up the whole _I’m taking you to the stars, baby_ date but Keith was smiling his tentative smile, the one that so close to a big silly grin, and knew Keith didn’t care for the gold in the room. Not for the stem glasses bubbled with wine. Not the pure silver dinnerware or the napkins as soft as silk.

Lance slid the menu across the table and cupped his mouth to speak low. “Bounce?”

Keith mirrored him and the two looked like two kids pouring over a map to Davy Jones’ locker. Smiled fully, brighter and warmer than the gold Rolex. Teeth pearly and richer than the diamonds laced on one elegant lady’s thin wrist.

These people had their green bills, overpriced luxury car, their 401k, their estates looking over the cliff and the ocean as though it floated on their wealth, and each piece of clothing had a name and a bigger price tag to it but Lance was the richest motherfucker in this whole place.

 “Fucking yes, please.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance rolled down his window and stuck his head out.

The black box crackled with static and asked, “Welcome to White Castle, can I take your order?”

He read the backlit menu in the dark, “Yea, can I have twenty sliders with no cheese. A sag of fries. Two cups of cheese and—hold on.”

He glanced back at Keith, “You want rings?”

“Oh hell yea, dude,” Keith nodded eagerly and went back to ranking up his score on Candy Crush

“And can I add some rings to that too?” He asked the box.

“Will take complete your order?”

“Yea.”

“Your total is twenty-fifty, please drive up front, sir.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

He drove them up to Mt Hollywood. The city’s light illuminated the night sky, their combined brilliance like that of stars. The big Hollywood sign glowed too, the white jarring in the sea of shadowy hills and foliage.

They ate on the hood on the Mustang, sharing bites of their food with the other. One wiping off a smear of cheese off the other’s lip. Both happy and gross in love and finding every dumb trick in the book to sneak a kiss and feeling like giants in a toy’s world.

Lance didn’t a fuck. He would take a million kisses.

“Keith,” Lance hopped off the hood and planted one knee and presented one perfectly circular fired onion in the center of his palm. Keith dramatically touched his sternum and gasped. “Will you do me the honor and be the Paul Walker to my Vin Diesel?”

“Do I get more onion rings?” He asked, eyes narrowed. Lance’s answer would make or break this delicate pre-engagement, he had to be wise with his words.

“Dude, I’ll buy you all the onion rings in the world if you’ll be my ride or die lover.”

Keith pursed his lips, then shrugged and offered out his hand. “Okay I’ll marry you. You’re pretty cute and I really like onion rings.”

Lance bestowed his 24 karat onion ring on his finger and kissed the back of his hand

“But you like me more than onion rings right?” Lance asked, one eyebrow arched.

Keith admired the greasy and gritty fit of his ring. “Whoa, don’t get crazy Lance.”

“Asshole,” his husband to be by onion ring union muttered.

“I’m fucking with you,” he said and munched on his ring. “Of course I like onion rings way more than you, come on. Get your head out of your ass.”

Lance launched his body weight and pinned Keith horizontal on the hood and trickled him.

Keith wiggled under him, laughing. “Oh shit! I’m playing, dude.”

 “You onion ring digging sleaze ball.” Lance lamented over Keith’s messages of peace.

 

 

[x]

 

 

Lance was chilling on the floor of Keith’s apartment with a bottle of beer and a bowel of popcorn, which depleted rapidly the drunker they got, and laughed at the bad special effects in the Power Rangers movie. He choked on a kennel three times when the cringe overpowered him.

Lance stretched his long legs and crossed his ankles, head leveled to Keith’s on the couch. His hot racer boyfriend doodled on dated composition notebooks and Lance secretly drowned in the sound of lead over paper.

Keith handed him a folded piece of paper and went back to drawing and half watching the movie.

He unfolded the note, curious, and read _Lance sucks dick_.

“Dude?” He turned his head.

Keith didn’t look up and kept his hands moving and creating figures out of nowhere. “This says I suck dick.”

“Really?” Keith played denial.

“ And there’s not even an add on to that,” Lance complained, smacking the paper. “Do I suck good dick? Am I the king of dick sucking? Is this a come on?”

“Let me see,” Keith took the paper back, made some amendments to it, and offered it back covertly as though it possessed the CIA’s Wi-Fi password.

Lance unwrinkled it and read, _Lance sucks the best dick ever_ , with an curved arrow interjected between suck and dick and written a line above the rest of the words. There was an added winky face.

“That’s much better. Not to tut my own horn but I’m like the Tupac of blowing guys.”

“The Tupac of blowjobs,” Keith repeated, slowly. “You know the guy was a rapper right?”

“And everyone keeps talking about him all these years, legend. I’m a legend Keith.”

“Don’t do the Barney Stinson thing—“

“Legen- wait for it-dary”

“I’m sure that will look great on your tombstone. Lance McClain. The Tupac of blowjobs and living legend.”

“Dude, no offense but you sounded so jelly saying that.”

“Yea, I’m real bummed out that I’m not the Tupac of blowjobs.”

“No but you’re the Little Wayne of ass eating, dude. Not everyone knows how to lick a butthole but you do, mister. You’re so much of an asshole that you inherently know how to eat an asshole.”

Keith punted a pillow to his legendary face.

He laughed, falling on his side, and scanned the note again.

“I wonder who this secret admirer is, apparently he really likes me cause he’s writing me notes.”

“You should write back to him,” he suggested, fully invested in this stupid game he’d set up.

“Let me have a pen real quick. Thanks.”

Lance grabbed a DVD case, flipped to the synopsis, and used the hard surface to write a reply. “Here.”

Keith recited word for word, “’Hit me up, I’m down to fuck.’ Oh my god, Lance.”

“I told you they call me Dr. Feel Good.”

“I thought you were Tupac of blowjobs.”

“Oh fuck,” Lance clapped his hands over his cheeks. “I should have put that in the note, how will he know that I’m the legend. Should I write another note?”

“No, I think he has a good idea of your OP blowjob skills.”

“So you gonna hit me up or not.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Is he hot, we can have a threeway?”

“Okay but you have to top, I don’t have the energy to finger and fuck you.”

 Lance groaned dramatically, making a exaggerated show of shuffling to his knees and getting on the couch. “Work, work, work. What if I wanted to be lazy?”

Keith spread his legs for Lance and popped the button and fly of his pants and lifted his hips up to take off his pants, “Then you should’ve call dibs, dude.”

Lance caught the fabric and tugged it off the rest of the way, and patted his knee, “True, you want it on your back or your knees.”

“I said lazy, Lance. On my back.”

“Like a true slut, how good of you.”

His boyfriend jabbed his big toe between his ribs. “Do me, Mr. Legend.”

Lance seized that leg and followed the limb to Keith’s tight ass and cupped him rough and dirty and watched Keith answer to the treatment by opening his legs and groaning softly. “Aw, baby you’re real horny tonight. I bet you’re hard as hell too.”

“Wanna see, baby. I know you like seeing my dick.”

“Fuck, yea. Show me, Keith. Let me see that fat cock.”

Hot, hot _hunger_ treaded through his bones when Keith ran a languid hand  down his chest and under his briefs and palmed the thick length of his cock, stroking the shaft with his fingers and squeezing the head so a damp spot grew dark in the fabric. Keith bucked into his hand, moaning and eyes falling closed like Lance wasn’t there and hard to touch him, fuck him, and suck him good. Did it as though he was alone in his room with nothing but his hand and his fantasy to get him off.

Keith husked, hand fucking obscene and pretty as he pumped his cock “Shit, I’m so hard.”

“Baby,” Lance pouted, trying to mute the rocking of his hips in response to Keith’s dirty display. He mouthed openly and wet on his kneecaps and watched as he treated the spot like a cock. “Don’t tease me like that. I really want to see it, please.”

Keith teased.

“Oh my god. I want dick. Gimme dick, man,” he complained, slapping the cushions.

“That’s what she said.”

“For that I should make you fuck yourself.”

Lance shuffled back as though to follow with the threat but Keith caged him in place with his legs.

Keith slanted his head with an expression on his face that never failed to lure Lance in hook, link, and sinker. “No, no. I’ll be good. Promise.”

Lance presented his pinky. “You gotta swear it. On the pinky.”

Keith snorted and hooked their pinkys. “Yes, the most law binding contract of mankind.”

Lance lowered and kissed the linked digits and felt the thin hairs on Keith’s trickle his lips. “Exactly. So unless you wanna go to court again you give me dick and you give it now.”

Keith reached in, grabbed his length, and popped it out.

His cock was gloriously solid, swollen, and a sluttish red, gripped at the fat root. The white of Keith’ finger starkly against the dark flush of his dick. Lance nibbled on his kneecap, a deep ache rocketed over his skin like a thundering storm, rushed swiftly with heat down to his gut.  It seemed as if every inch of his body thirsted desperately for a piece of Keith.

Mouth wet for cock.

Hands twitchy to pump him. To pull on the smooth skin and see the foreskin roll over the head.

Dick throbbing to rut.

Ass quivering for a thick, slickness to stretch it.

He ran his tongue across his lips. “These too,” Lance yanked on the band of underwear. “Can’t fuck you with it.”

Keith folded his knees and smoothed it over legs. He opened his legs automatically so Lance could see him unobstructed, cock curved, balls tight, and his puckered rim gaping.  A hunger known by those marked as predators slithered up his skin, a brilliant heat, and found it placement neatly on him, claws digging as arousal mounted thicker.

“Nice,” Lance husked, fingers touching Keith lightly.

Keith jumped at the feathered sensation. “Lance.”

“You got such a nice ass, Keith. Nice cock too.”

Something a sister to a whimper and a brother to a whine, and everything that got guys swollen and women wet escaped Keith.

And oh yea, Lance was supposed to do stuff, not gawk, so he got to work and push Keith’s thighs to his chest. “Mind holding these?”

“Thought you were working not me.”

“Trust me. You’re gonna want something to grab.”

Keith did so, the pose passing suggestive and riding the line of nasty.

Lance attempted not to blow it right now, in both sense of the word.

With a parting smirk to his watching boyfriend, Lance dove low. Keith’s breath hitched the second his mouth ghosted over his hole. He sucked a finger and coated it thickly and fucked it in and a scorching heat laced fast at how _easy_ and _good_ Keith took it. Like a pro. Like his hot little cockslut.

“Damn, baby. You needed dick this badly,” Lance moaned.

Over the wall of his thighs, Lance heard Keith’s answering whimper.

Keith parted the wall and stared, cheeks going pretty and pink. “Yea. Need to be fucked, Lance. Need it good.”

Well now Lance could work with requests, especially ones like those.

He mouthed up and rolled one of his balls with his tongue. He couldn’t look down to see the magic of Keith eating his fingers but the boy was doing it very, very well. Lance was up to two and Keith didn’t seem properly sated with that amount, just swallowed Lance in and spat him back out like _I want thick, boy_.

“Fucking fist me, why are going so slow? Oh my god,” Keith groaned.

Lance spit out his ball and glared through the gap between the thighs. “Hey I’m boss tonight. You can chill for a minute.”

“I’m horny.”

“Yea. That’s pretty apparent. I sucked your dick yesterday, how are you this desperate?”

“You’re hot.”

“Aw, you too.”

“Please can you go back to finger fucking me?”

Lance winked and lowered like a submarine, “One finger fucking coming right up.”

“Wow, I’m significantly less horny—Ah, Lance! Like that. Fuck. Do it like that.”

Word to the wise, don’t get cheeky with a man who had two fingers in your ass and unlimited access to your cock.

Lance really liked to make his blowjobs quite unrefined, all spit and tongue and no sense of technique in sight. He did that now, a mess of spit and pre-cum just _dripping_ down the shaft, the balls, and slicking between the channel of Keith’s ass. It ended up becoming extra lube to fuck Keith, which real cool, hakuna matata.

Smartly, he did not give voice to that thought cause Keith would definitely revoke his rights to his butt.

His fingers and mouth made every filthy sound out of the book. The thrust of fingers turned into a perverted slip and slide, Keith barely let him get the tip out. Keith leaked profusely that Lance could forgone his sloppy spit and use that but where was the fun in that.

 Besides, he enjoyed his skin becoming pruney just from playing with Keith.

“Lance, Lance,” Keith pleaded, voice heavier than smoke billowing from a forest fire.

Lance released his cock, pre-cum leaving a shiny sheen on his mouth. “Yea, baby?”

“Fuck me.”

“Good. My wrist was starting to hurt. Do you wanna use something?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Want you to cum in me.”

Lance growled, “Little bastard, I’m taking you to bed. You’re getting it super hard tonight cause of that.”

He smirked and made his face go doe and soft and rasped in a tone peeled off the cliff side of a sleeping volcano. “Fuck. Lance, I want you to cum in me so badly. Want to be fucking stuffed.”

“That’s it. You have unleashed the beast. Let’s go.” Lance climbed up and tossed Keith over his shoulder, spanking his ass as he stormed from the living room to Keith’s bedroom.

He kicked the door, hands busy with keeping Keith securely in place and the other fingering him for fun. With little to do in return, Keith mouthed his back. Teeth nipped right on the ridge before the dip of his spine.

Lance bit him on the ass.

The blinds were drawn up and cool air and soft murmur of random conversations drifted into the room. It was some time past noon, the sun was kissing the crowns of the skyline and the soft colors bled pretty into the darkening sky. Dust mites floated in the beam of light and glistened deceptively like diamonds in the air.

Lance huffed as he mounted the bed, knees cracking when he dropped on them. He laid Keith out like a load of laundry and saw the sky painting Keith up pretty and poetic just like that time of the prier.

Some mites drifted over his face with the angling light, and what did you call something gorgeous mashed up with another equally stunning element.

There was no cheat sheet but Lance guessed you call it, Keith.

Yea, he was a sap. Shut up.

Calling his boyfriend poetic. Comparing him to pastel colors and genuine diamonds.

Like wow, talk about being in the deep end of this pool called love.

You couldn’t get more whipped, oh well.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re pretty as fuck?” Lance asked.

Keith grabbed a pillow and tucked it under his head. “Yea. You. All the time.”

“It’s cause I’m a smart man.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he laughed, a sound Lance assorted to church bells and the ice cream truck chime. His laugh lines softened, “Fuck me, baby.”

Lance rolled between his thighs, hand on his cock. He braced on one elbow, watching between them as he pressed his cock inside. Keith opened easy.

Lance gasped, “Fuck, fuck. You feel so hot. God damn.”

“Give me that dick. Don’t stop, Lance.” Keith reached down and cupped his ass, fingering making divots in his cheeks.

He kissed Lance as he breathed deeply, trying not to slam in that fucking psychotic heat, god damn. And it wasn’t the first occasion either of them tried bare back, they did it on events when they felt particularly wanton and the ache to be wholly undone, but each time was an intense and visceral experience.

Keith pressed his mouth on Lance’s shoulder and sucked with too much spit and tongue.  “C’mon. I want more.”

“Oh fuck,” he cursed, pushing in deeper, and Keith’s ass was just eating him up. 1, 2, 3. Simple as blinking. The thought was making him mad with lust.

“Yea, baby. Fill me up. So thick.”

Lance shivered _terribly_. So terrible, honest, his entire body being pelleted with shockwave after shockwave of molten heat sucking him, squeezing him, fluttering greedily on his dick. He paused for a second time when his balls pulled flush to Keith’s ass.

Dude started like _groveling_ real badly for it. To get fucked by his cock. To be owned and used beautifully. Now, now. Damnit right now.

Lance shut him up and smashed their lips, teeth clanking, drool trailing down the corners of their mouths. And the silence helped _a ton_ , well as silent as it got cause Keith was still making these awfully breathy and nasty noises like a virgin.

Lance broke apart for air.

Unbeknownst to Lance Keith didn’t have no need for such things since the second his mouth left, dude was back at it, wholesome goodness blurting out his mouth like a broken faucet. Like he was earning a paycheck, a good slut ranked good dough.

“Please Lance. Fuck me,” he moaned. “God, give me that fat cock, baby. Need it.”

Lance clapped a palm down on his mouth which worked for a fraction of a second where Keith went silent with shock before he _groaned_ low and guttural against his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

Huston, we have the best kind of problem.

He smirked down at Keith’s blissed out expression and started fucking him slowly, loving each moan that was muffled by his hand. “Like that, baby? Like being fucking gagged by me?”

Keith nodded, unable to talk.

“Slut,” he growled, changing up the pace of his hips into a sleazy, dirty grind. Made his cock dragged thick and nasty inside. Let Keith get a good fucking feel of him so he didn’t forget, so he never could.

Keith whined, neck bowed back sharply. The squeak of the mattress attempted very hard to smother the sound of it.

“Next time I’m gonna gag you for real and tie your little ass up and just fucking destroy you.”

Keith’s legs kicked, looking for purchase to spread himself wider. Lance grabbed one and hitched it over his shoulder. Keith was diamond hard at this point— which ditto, Lance too— his dick leaked a slippery mess when Lance’s gut dragged on it.

The flat of his palm was wet too, keeping a firm grip got a little tricky when he started to seriously fuck Keith like his whore. It moved him over the sheets. Pleasure blindsided him. All points of focus boiled down to his dick snugged tight and sweet in that ass.

Lance rammed hard, sweating beading down his forehead, and knowing two things with a beautiful clarity— the erratic breaths of Keith and the delicious pulse of him around his cock.

And another thing, something out of place with this hard fucking— that he wanted the rest of his days to be like this. Taking Keith’s breaths away. Giving him his own. Putting pieces of himself in Keith, and he didn’t mean physically. Emotionally too.

Everyone was a jig puzzle with a few missing pieces, lost at some point in their lives or maybe born with 99 instead of a 100, but he wanted to be the one to complete Keith. Be number 100 in the 99 of Keith’s puzzle picture.

“Are you close?” Lance asked into his ear.

He took the muffled sob as a yes. “Me too, baby. I’m gonna fill you up real good, sweetheart. You’re gonna take my cum right?”

Keith nodded, his face blisteringly red.

Lance puffed out, voice something old planes emitted when they started false on a dusty engine. Felt the word scraped on the walls of his trachea.  “Good boy. Such a perfect slut. Fucking love that about you, Keith. Love how good you are for me. My perfect man.”

He gripped Keith’s cock and pumped so he could have him coming and squeezing the same time Lance fucked his cum deep inside. Keith came so hard that Lance felt each throb of it like a second heartbeat. He tense tight, body frozen, and Lance mercilessly fucked the last bit of his orgasm in him.

The moment he released Keith, he coughed. A red mark painted in the shape of Lance’s hand.

Lance kissed it, listening to Keith regain control over his voice. He made to pull out but Keith stilled him.

“Don’t pull out,” he wheezed.

Lance folded over him, mindful of his weight. “Why?”

“Too lazy to clean the sheets and my ass is full.”

He smiled. “Well, you did request it.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Just stay inside and take me to the bathroom in two minutes. I wanna nap.”

Lance giggled. “Okay. I’ll be right here, waiting.”

Keith closed his eyes. “Good.”

 

 

[x]

 

 

He was digging this ride, a classic 69 Chevy Impala restored from its prehistoric rotors. It had a glossy charcoal finish and chrome rims and that sweet thing had one hell of a purr.

The driver noticed Lance’s awe and grinned,  smug as a feline ate the canary and pinned it on the family dog.

 “Nice ride, man.” Lance offered his hand. “Lance.”

“Sendak,” the driver said,  he had tremendous hands that coiled upward to thicker arms and a barrel wide chest. Guy came in at an easy six foot. “Thanks, took some time but she’s my pride and joy.”

“I know the feeling. Mine’s—“

“The blue Mustang right?” Sendak hooked a thumb at the Stang, gathering some appreciative fans. Pidge rumbled the engine when some girls tried to pose with it. “I think I’ve seen you around. I heard you’re damn good behind the wheel. Got any advice for me?”

He pressed his knuckles to his lips, “Besides getting a good engine for your car, I would say not to try that fast and furious shit in real life. Quick way to wreck your car and risk your life. Leave that to the movies.”

“Personal experience or…?”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, “Something like that. Who are you going up against?”

Sendak scratched the stubble across his chin, “Guy named Keith I think.”

“Oh shit.”

“What, what?”  His cocksure aura diminished at Lance’s hiss.

“Good fucking luck, man.”

Sandek crossed his arms, face suspicious. “You’re busting my balls.”

“Nah, he’s good. That’s too bad.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, he’s my man. Plus I’ve been giving him lessons. He’s my padawan and he is slaying everyone, I’m so proud.”

Sendak paled.

Keith wandered over, flawless with his long hair up in a bun, and pinched Lance’s ear. “Stop doing that.”

“What did I do wrong?” Lance whined.

Keith looked apologetically. “Sorry. He likes to fuck with people. I’m Keith and no, I don’t slay. And I’m not his padawan.”

“The man should have fair warning,” he argued.

“I’m taking you away before you start something. See you um…”

The man supplied, bewildered if the warning should be taken lightly or not. “Sendak.”

“Sendak, yeah. Later.” Keith linked arms with his chatty boyfriend and walked him to Challenger.

Allura had Big Red’s hood popped as she made a through last minute check on her, hair in a elegant braid so as to not obscure her vision and fingers smudged dark with grease.  Sensing their presence, she waved without peeking back.

Keith squeezed his hip before checking in with his mechanic. “Everything looking good?”

“Yea. With the adjustments Pidge and I made, she should have a smoother feel. The pedals are little sensitive but I know you’re good at adapting in the moment. You don’t gotta punch it like the Mustang.” She closed the hood.

“God don’t like ugly, Allura,” Lance snipped.

Allura made to swat Lance but he leapt out of the way and found sanctuary behind Keith, a ridiculous sight with their slight height difference.

He clapped down on Keith’s frame and spoke petulantly, ”To strike me, you must strike Keith.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

Keith backed up, arms up in a gesture of peace. Lance clung to his spine and matched each of his steps. “Don’t drag me into this.”

“You accepted my onion ring, you are therefore dragged into all my problems.”

“God damn you.”

Pidge joined in, fondly annoyed by Lance’s antics. “Hey, you clowns. Race’s about to start.”

“Shit you’re right,” Keith tapped his cell, reading the time.

Lance opened the door for him like a gentlemen. He kissed him through the window, “Kick ass, baby.”

Keith cupped his neck, extending the kiss, and slid his tongue in. Lance melted, a moan soft between the wet glide of tongue against tongue.

Keith drew back, their lips separated by mere centimeters. When he spoke, it brushed their lips together soft and ghost like, a phantom kiss. “Okay. Now I can go to work.”

“You’re gross.”  His mouth felt electric with bolts dancing faintly over the nerve endings, the memory of their lips slotting together still vivid in his mind.

“No. You are,” Keith murmured back, looking like the only thing keeping Lance on two feet and not straddle on his dick was the race and their mechanic’s combined wrath.

“Get going,” Lance took a step back and thumbed the pockets of his jeans.

Keith waved and drove Big Red to the starting point.

Lance found his crew on the curb, watching.

The 69 Impala pulled up next and both drivers let their rides do the talking for a bit. The crowd loved it. The sound a majestic thing to every car enthusiast. Lance yelled loud for Keith.

 A gorgeous dame sauntered between the car in hip riding joggers and a sparkly rhinestone rimmed bodice bra, hair in the wind and heels clicking on pavement.

She smiled, raising her arms up.

Keith braced a hand on the stick, eyes laser focused. Big Red revved, ravenous to eat up street.

Sendak followed his example but nerves made him side glance Keith repeatedly in an attempt to read his moves before he made them. Which good luck cause in the mode of racer, Keith’s face went blank with concentration.

She brought her arms down and the driver flew off like a unchained bullet, cutting through air.

His man was going to win, no doubt about it.

There was something else he had no doubt about— he had an addiction—adrenaline, fast cars, and Keith.

 Good thing street racing were bountiful  in each.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: pro-derp  
> twitter: @angry_latte


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